Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Until yesterday, I had no idea what a fine line there was between courteous and creepy for grocery store baggers.

CourteousMale Bagger (mid 30's):
"Can I help you out with your groceries?"

Me:
"No, thank you."

CreepyMale Bagger (mid-30's)
"Are you sure? I'd really like to help you out."

Me:
(Hmmm, let me think: Am I sure that I don't want a creepy man walking me out to my car trying to make conversation with me for ten excruciating minutes while I pray he doesn't say, or do, anything else creepy that forces me to wave the wedding ring on my hand in front of his face or pull the mace out of my purse. That's a tough one.)

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I cannot live without coffee, high heels or books. I aspire to cook like Gordon Ramsey and garden like Martha Stewart. I live with my husband, our son, Deacon and a kitty, Griffin, who, we've now realized, is NEVER going to adjust to life with a toddler. Someday I hope to own a pair of Christian Louboutin heels, a black dachshund, and a lime tree. Then I will put on my heels and walk my dog out to the lime tree where I will pick limes to use in a mojito.